


Tempest

by mintyfreshness



Series: Storms [1]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Major Character Injury, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 16:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18102005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintyfreshness/pseuds/mintyfreshness
Summary: “Oh, this is not good,” he mutters, pressing his forehead into the leather of his saddle. “This is really not good.”Toothless gives a low moan as Hiccup’s despair falls in a shadow across his whole body.“We’re a bit fucked, aren’t we bud?”





	Tempest

She wakes a little earlier than usual this day, blinking the sleep out of her eyes as the first rays of dawn slowly begin illuminating the world around her. Around her, her family continue to sleep, the only audible noise a few snuffles as her mother rolls over and settles again. Quietly, so as not to wake them, she slips on her clothes, laces her boots, and pulls the door to as she heads outside. 

The sun is just high enough to give the sea around the island some brilliant orange highlights and cast a warm glow on the buildings of Berk as she leisurely makes her way up the hill to the mess hall. Her village is hardly ever this quiet – before, there was constant reconstruction and damage control from the dragon raids; now, the vivacious partnership of Vikings and dragons means Berk barely sleeps. She loves the quiet – it’s only when it’s quiet that she and Hiccup can get anything resembling time alone. The memory of their last encounter surfaces – they’d snuck out of evening meal two nights ago and found themselves wedged in between two houses, lips entangled and hands eager and searching – and she bites her lip and smiles as she reaches the top of the hill.

She’s not the first in the mess hall – in a corner, a trio of brothers who are getting up early to run and to train quietly chat amongst themselves; toward the centre, a young child, who is quite happily babbling away, smears their breakfast all over their mother’s exhausted face; not far from them, Gothi, who seems to never sleep, offers handouts to the flock of Terrors that follow her _everywhere_.

And off to one side, a black dragon and its rider, chortling as the dragon inhales fish after fish while the rider rapidly spoons porridge into his mouth in an apparent race to see who can finish their meal the quickest. So engrossed are they in their contest that neither clock her approach until she’s right behind them.

“Good morning, love,” she yawns, placing a kiss on scruffy auburn hair. The dragon perks up in response to her arrival, and she leans over to scratch him behind the ears. “And good morning to you too, trouble.”

The dragon pauses to give her an indignant look, before smiling and diving back into his breakfast. The rider, having taken the opportunity to down the dregs in his bowl (apparently his third), smiles and drags her down to sit across his lap. Their eyes lock for a brief second before he leans down to gently press his lips to hers.

She smiles into the kiss – it was not so long ago that they barely touched in public, when they were young and newly in love and self-conscious about demonstrating their affection, and now there are few things on Berk that are more certain than this. The sun rises and sets every day. The harsher the winter, the drunker the village gets the following Thawfest. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III and Astrid Hofferson love each other. And for a while now, the rules for non-married couples have been bent slightly (okay, a lot) because the rest of the tribe gets a kick out of their relationship.

“Good morning, milady,” he mumbles across her lips, barely breaking the kiss. “You’re up early.”

“Could say the same about you.” Their lips meet again briefly, before she nuzzles her face into his collarbone, inhaling his scent and closing her eyes. “Why the competitive eating?”

“We’re going exploring today, and we need the staying power.” His hands gently rub up and down her back as she stifles another yawn.

“I thought you were helping your dad again today.”

“Hence the pre-dawn breakfast,” he explains. “I don’t want to upset him, but I need a break from all the chief stuff. It’s… overwhelming, to say the least.”

She opens her eyes and directs her gaze to his face, fingers coming up to cup his cheek. “Have you talked to him about it?”

He sighs, leaning into her touch. “He doesn’t really get it. I mean, I’m impressed how much he’s already changed his views since Toothless and everything, but he’s still got this idea of what kind of chief he wants me to be and he just won’t budge on it.”

“And today?”

“And today I just want a day off to breathe,” he sighs, absentmindedly drawing circles on her hip. “I just want to go flying with my best friend, maybe find a new island. Do something that isn’t so… _chiefy_.”

She presses a kiss against the smooth, freshly shaved skin of his jaw. “You need to do what makes you happy, Hiccup. Making yourself miserable doesn’t help anyone. And in any case, I think Toothless is going a bit stir-crazy too.”

Their gazes are redirected to the Night Fury who is currently bounding around the room, nosing at the other plates and upending benches in search of more fish.

He gives a low laugh and pulls her back into his chest. “You don’t mind me abandoning you, do you?”

“Of course not. Go – fly around, find a new piece of dirt to draw. I’ll see you this evening.”

“And what might we be getting up to this evening?” he smirks.

“Oh, you know, cleaning out the stables, helping scrub the cooking pots, maybe bed down the baby Gronkles…”

“Sounds super romantic."  
  
“What can I say, I’m a woman of great taste.”

“Yeah, that’s why you’re dating me.”

“Well it’s mostly the Night Fury that does it; having a one-of-a-kind dragon is a big selling point.”

“You know what else is one-of-a-kind?”

“If you’re gonna mention your junk, I swear to Thor, Haddock-”  
  
“I was _actually_ going to say my peg leg, but since you’re clearly occupied with something else I guess I can’t disappoint-"  
  
“Hiccup, stop!” she giggles as he nuzzles her face into the ticklish point on her neck. He laughs softly, before pulling her back into his embrace, placing a kiss to the top of her head.

“You’re the best, you know that?” he mumbles into her hair.

“Yep. You’re the luckiest Viking on the world.”

“That I am,” he smiles, before tilting her chin up to kiss her again. Their lips just touch before an impatient Toothless accidentally skids into the bench and tips them onto the floor.

Once they’ve untangled themselves from the bench and each other, they make their way outside hand in hand. The sun has well and truly risen now, and she has to shield her eyes as she watches her other half check the saddlebags attached to the harness before mounting the saddle and secure his prosthetic leg into the rigging.

With a final smile between them, he urges the dragon up into the sky and away from the island. She watches them fly until they are no more than a speck on the horizon, before turning away and heading off for her own breakfast.

She has no reason to be worried.

 

* * *

 

 

This was a great idea. 

He can feel his worries melting away as he speeds through the air atop his companion, as if the rushing wind itself peels away the layers of stress. Toothless is itching to truly spread his wings, having spent over a week largely grounded due to Hiccup’s current responsibilities, and they easily fall into a routine that requires no communication, no explanation. They rise through the clouds, climbing higher and higher until Hiccup’s breath becomes somewhat laboured from the altitude; they turn and fall towards the open sea, shooting faster than an arrow from a longbow; Toothless spreads his wings and rolls them into a corkscrew turn and they watch the world spin in a circle around them. Hiccup spreads his arms and whoops; Toothless gives a joyful roar in response before speeding off in earnest.

They rise, they fall, they turn; again, and again, and again until the sun is well past its zenith and their bellies begin to growl for more sustenance.

Ahead of them, an unfamiliar island rises out of the waves, silver storm-battered cliffs and lush, undisturbed forests.

Perfect.

The pair spend the day exploring and inventorying everything they come across. Hiccup catalogues all the species of flora and fauna they find, while Toothless makes friends with the locals. Much to their delight, on the trees they find an edible fruit with a smooth and furry purple outer layer, with sweet orange innards and a juice that dribbles down Hiccup’s chin. Toothless, of course, simply swallows one whole before nosing at the tree for more. He packs half a dozen into a saddlebag as a present for Astrid, imagining her smile as she bites into one for the first time. Afterwards, they launch skyward again so that Hiccup can get a good idea of the landscape of the island for his map, and also for some more aerobatics (which results in Hiccup having to pick more of the fruit to replace the ones that slip from the saddlebag mid-flight). On landing, the dragon scampers off to play with a group of Terrors that live nearby, leaving the Viking in solitude to update his map.

Hiccup’s putting the final touches to the new addition when the first raindrop hits the parchment, turning the label ‘Berk’ into ‘Bork’. He raises his head – a storm has blown in while he’s been engrossed in his cartography, the sky above grey and the wind beginning to whistle threateningly through the trees.

“Okay, bud, I think it’s time we made a move,” he calls out as he rapidly folds the parchment back into its protective book. “Storms don’t make for carefree flying and it’s not far off dark now, either.”

The Night Fury bounds back into the clearing and shakes himself off in preparation for the long flight back home. In the time it takes Hiccup to finish folding the map, check the buckles on the saddlebags and adjust the saddle, the strength of the wind increases to the extent that he’s struggling to stay upright, let alone climb into the saddle and strap his legs into the pedals.

“Looks like this is gonna be a rough one,” he calls over the wind. “I think I’m gonna try that extra failsafe that I rigged up last week.”

The dragon grumbles his dissent.

“Hey, come on, when was the last time I got something _really_ wrong? Give me _some_ credit, bud!” he calls as he tinkers with an extra piece of metal that locks his prosthetic more firmly into the dragon’s tail rig. By now, his hair and clothing are soaked through, water dripping into his eyes as the wind bites against his skin, and he hears the not-so-distant rumble of thunder. It makes his hands shake as he fumbles for his safety line to clip onto the saddle.

“Alright, bud, let’s-”

The lightning strikes the tree nearest to them; in a millisecond the bark splinters and a thick branch snaps and falls onto the pair’s left side.

It strikes the rig just below where Hiccup’s leg ends, the extra tension provided by the ‘failsafe’ ripping the prosthesis clean away from his stump, crushing the leather and metalwork, and delivering a dull blow to Toothless’ midsection.

Dragon and rider fall away from the jolt, but Hiccup is not yet attached to the Night Fury and falls further, instinctively reaching out with his arm to break his fall. He feels the crunch before he hears it and cries out in pain as he lands awkwardly on his wrist, chest thumping the floor hard soon after.  His ears ring from the boom of the lightning; his eyes are blinded by the incessant rain; his left leg is without a foot once again and his right wrist is in utter agony. And, oh, breathing makes his whole body _ache._

“Tooth… less… you… okay…?” he hisses through the pain.

He feels the dragon gently nose his chest and give a small whine of concern.

“I’m fine… are…  you hurt?”

A neutral purr. _Thank the gods_.

“I think… I think I need to…” Hiccup’s eyes roll back in his head, his awareness plunging into sweet oblivion.

 

* * *

 

There are several things Astrid expects to see when she opens her family’s front door the next morning. Stoick the Vast looking more than moderately unsettled is not one of them. 

“Uh, good morning Chief,” she stammers. “Uh, what can I do for-?”

“Was Hiccup with you last night?” he blurts.

She freezes. “Was he… what?”

“Was he _with_ you?” he asks.

 _Oh gods_. No, this isn’t happening, her Chief (and sort of future father-in-law) _definitely_ did not just ask her if she and his son have- if they _are_ -

“Uh… we don’t… I mean… he hasn’t-”

“What I mean is, did he stay with you last night, lass? I’m not going to get cross at either of you, I just need to know.”

She gives an internal sigh of relief. “No, no he didn’t. I went to bed early and he wasn’t back by the time I did.” A few seconds of silence, before it registers. “Why, was he not at home with you?”

Her chieftain shakes his head. “No. I haven’t seen him since the day before last.”

“He and Toothless went off early yesterday morning,” she explains, making a mental note to remind the man in question to start leaving notes for his father in the future. “They, uh… they wanted some headspace. I didn’t realise they weren’t back yet.”

Stoick raises a hand to stroke his facial hair, as he is wont to do when presented with troubling news. “I’m sure they’ll be back soon,” she says in an attempt to placate him. “You know what they’re like, they probably got carried away exploring and got too far out to come back in a day. It’s not the first time they’ve done this.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and waits for him to respond.

“Yes. Yes, you’re probably right.” Stoick sighs in what’s almost relief. “Can you ask him to come find me when he does get back? I think we need to have a chat.”

“Yes, Chief.”

“No use worrying when he’ll be back before the noon meal,” he says, mostly to try and placate himself as he wanders off without a parting remark to Astrid. “He’s _fine_ , he’s absolutely fine…”

But by the evening meal, Astrid’s not so convinced either. It’s true that Hiccup and Toothless have a bit of a habit of randomly disappearing for a day at a time, but he’s always back by the following afternoon, usually with some sheepish remark about “lost track of time” and “Toothless got bored” before tucking her under his arm and pressing an apologetic kiss to her temple as they head up to dinner together.

By the time the plates are scraped clean, and the sun is almost down, she’s antsy enough that she’s just about to head off with Stormfly and look for him herself – that is, until Gobber catches her arm as she leaves the mess hall.

“It’s nearly dark, lass. And,” he stops to sniff at the warm evening air, “storm’s coming in. A bad one. Neither you nor your dragon want to be out in that.”

“But-”

“Hiccup wouldn’t appreciate you putting yourself in danger for him,” Gobber says. “Chances are he’s just stuck behind the storm and is waiting for it to pass before he heads back. Don’t worry yourself lass, he’s survived worse than a bit of thunder and rain. And you know that Toothless would never let him get in harm’s way.”

Astrid nods, slightly reassured by the smith’s words. And while she doesn’t head off with Stormfly in search of her partner, neither does she sleep that night. She tells herself it’s just because of the wind battering the village and the rain thundering on the roof of her parents’ hut.

She almost believes herself.

 

* * *

 

The first thing he’s aware of is _pain_. 

Pain up his right arm, all over his left leg (what’s left of it, anyway); his head feels like it’s swollen to twice its size and his chest – well, that only hurts when he breathes.

But pain means he’s alive, and that’s got to count for something.

All around him is darkness, and Hiccup starts to panic, scared that his eyesight has failed until the darkness shifts a little and he realises he’s inside Toothless’ wings, protected by his friend’s indestructible scales. He tries movement and winces with instant regret as his ribs protest and white-hot pain lances up his arm from his wrist – _it_ must _be broken, it must be_. The noise is enough to rouse Toothless, who opens his wings and looks down in concern, ears perked and eyes wide.

“I’m- _ahhhh_ ,” he winces again as he tries to shift into a sitting position, “I’m okay, bud. I’m okay.”

Toothless warbles in a way that clearly says _yeah, right, and I’m a Gronkle._

Hiccup blinks, and the world comes into focus. The sky has cleared, and the stars are now visible, just ever so tainted by the light of the sun setting on the horizon – or is it rising? Hiccup assesses the stiffness in his not-injured joints and concludes that he’s likely slept through the night.

“Are you okay, bud? Are you hurt at all?”

A purr. _I’m mostly okay_. A shift of his head towards his midsection. _This is sore though_.

“I can…” Hiccup slowly turns, breathing through the bite of his ribs (probably bruised). “I have some cooling herbs in one of the saddlebags. I can try and make a-”

His sentence is abruptly ended as he tries to stand up without his prosthetic and promptly falls into Toothless’ side; his ribs screaming in protest again.

“Let’s see if we can… if we can get this rigged so we can head back to Berk,” he mumbles, directing his gaze to the components in front of him, trying to make his woozy brain focus. The saddle appears to be mostly intact, the saddlebags still seem full, Toothless’ prosthetic tail has no holes in it, his rig is-

His rig.

 _Oh, gods_.

“Oh, this is not good,” he mutters, pressing his forehead into the leather of his saddle. “This is really not good.”

One more look is enough to confirm that there’s no way he can fix the damage here, alone and without a forge and down a hand. The intricate metalwork is twisted and warped, the leather torn and hanging loose. His prosthetic sits in the middle, inaccessible under the carnage. He can neither extricate it, nor have any hope of reattaching it if by some miracle he did manage to get it free one-handed.

Toothless gives a low moan as Hiccup’s despair falls in a shadow across his whole body.

“We’re a bit fucked aren’t we bud?”

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Stoick sends twenty pairs of riders out in search of Hiccup. 

Astrid and the twins push their dragons harder than any others, not even stopping for food. They ride against the rain, against the wind, covering more islands than any other pairing.

They all return after sunset empty-handed.

The next day is no different.

Four days pass to no avail, and by the fifth near on half the village is out looking for him. Astrid had expected Stoick to have had to pull rank in order to achieve this, but Fishlegs quietly remarks to her that almost every rider has volunteered to join the search party. The tension in the village is almost tangible, and Astrid is touched by the compassion displayed by the tribe towards her partner. _If only fourteen-year-old Hiccup were here to see this_ , she thinks. _If only he could see the love they have for him, the_ real _him_.

 _If only he were here_. A bit on the nose, even for her. But then again, she’s barely slept since he went missing, too nervous to calm her heart and brain enough to let sleep take her. Instead, she’s sought solace by hiding in Hiccup’s bed, trying to imagine that he’s curled around her, that they’re together, that they’re _safe_.

It almost works. Almost.

Astrid pulls the furs tighter around her and allows a single tear to drop onto the pillow.

The door to Hiccup’s room creaks and Astrid breaks from her thoughts to look up and see Stoick barely fighting off his own tears.

“I’m sorry lass, I didn’t realise you’d want to… I’ve been coming up here every so often, just to check that he’s not in here. Just in case."

Astrid shifts and rises to a seated position. “I’m sorry Chief, I shouldn’t have-”

“Oh, don’t be silly, lass,” he chuckles. “Nothing makes me happier than seeing the two of you together. I’ve been so blessed, by both of you. He’s the last of my family and you...” His breath hitches. “He’s the last of my family and…”

A single sob breaks through. “And I don’t know what I’d do if he died.”

Astrid watches as Stoick the Vast, the greatest warrior she’s ever known, feared and revered by every tribe in the archipelago, a man who killed innumerable dragons and led the tribe through the worst winter in Berk’s history without so much as a grumble, burst into tears in front of her.

He hadn’t even cried when Hiccup had lost his leg, not when he’d lain unconscious and unresponsive for days – Astrid’s parents swore that he’d _never_ cried, not even after losing Hiccup’s mother. Seeing this man that she has idolised for all her life be so vulnerable in front of her, knowing he is only doing so because of the love they both share for his son, sets her off as well.

They cry and cry and cry until they’re both dry from it all, and somewhere in the middle of it, Stoick comes to sit at the foot of Hiccup’s bed of firs, their shoulders eventually settling and breathing returning to normal, save for a few sniffs here and there. They’ve been sat in silence for at least ten minutes when Stoick speaks next.

“When I lost Valka…” His voice is hoarse from crying, and he coughs to clear his throat. “When I lost Valka, I barely set foot on the island for months. We’d only come back into port to replenish our supplies enough for our next expedition, to swap out some of the weaker warriors, those who had children due, the like. I pushed everyone hard, and they let me because I was their chief, but also because I was grieving, clutching at reeds, _desperate_ to find something, even a slip of clothing, just... something that I could use for closure. And one day we were at sea, and there was _something_ nagging at my mind, something that I’d forgotten, but I just couldn’t place it. And then I remembered – it was Hiccup’s birthday.”

Astrid’s eyes widen.

“And I felt even worse than I had the night Valka had been taken. I felt _ashamed_. What would my wife say, if we had found her, when I told her that I’d barely seen our son, that I’d missed his _first birthday_ , because I didn’t know when to admit defeat?

“So, we returned to Berk and I started raising Hiccup as my own, and it was wonderful for the first half dozen years. He was bright and he was adorable, and he had a laugh that would just light up a room and the faces of everyone in it.” He smiles and sniffs. “I remember you and him and all the young’uns your age playing together in the snow one Snoggletog when you all were no higher than my waist and I remember finally feeling a joy that had been missing since my wife’s death.

“And then he grew a bit more, but he was _skinny_ , and unathletic, and uninterested in learning to swing an axe or wield a hammer or shoot a bow. And I was embarrassed to the rest of the village and I spent all my time trying to correct it. This boy couldn’t be my heir; how could I have failed that badly?

“Until he placed first in dragon training, using what he’d learned from Toothless. Until he fought that beast without a thought for his own safety. And for the first time, I understood who my son really was and what he could achieve, and I realised how _wrong_ I had been. Valka would have been ashamed of me.

“My son is intelligent and patient and compassionate and peaceful, and I failed as a father trying to hammer that out of him. I never believed in _him_.”

Stoick turns to look at her. “But you did, lass.” 

Astrid fights back a fresh wave of tears.

“You believed in him before any of the rest of us. You helped him realise his potential, helped him succeed with that beast on the island. And that was even before he lost his leg…”

The tears win the battle.

“I see the two of you every day. I see the way you walk together, how you sit together in the mess hall, how you have whole conversations just with your eyes. I thank the Gods every day for the love you two share.”

A veritable flood now.

“And to think after all that that I may never see him again-”

“He wants to get married,” she cuts in.

Stoick just gapes at her.

“He’s been talking about it for months, ever since last Thawfest. He’s trying to save up for my bride price. I keep telling him that he could offer my parents a yak turd for me and they’d still say yes.”

Stoick chuckles at that. Astrid manages a smile, the tears finally slowing.

“But he insists he wants to do this properly, and I can’t deny him anything, especially this.” She snorts, rubbing at her eyes. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that. He wanted to talk to you about it himself.”

“I’ll pretend I don’t know anything,” Stoick laughs, then stops short. “If we ever get to have that conversation.”

If Astrid could cry more tears, they would be flowing again.

“We have to…” she croaks. “We have to believe he’ll come back.”

Stoick sighs. “Believing is all we can do, lass. Believing and praying.”

Silence takes them again and is only broken by Stoick standing up sometime later to head downstairs.

“Feel free to stay here tonight, Astrid. Family… family sticks together in trying times. You’re as much family as he is now.” The door closes softly behind him.

She may be out of tears, but her chest still shakes with silent sobs as she buries herself in the furs once again.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been two days since the bladder of water ran out and he had to start drinking from the pond. 

The water is bitter and filthy, but Toothless has been unable to find any other fresh water sources on his forays around the island, and it’s not like the sea water is an option.  Each mouthful makes him cough and splutter and that just makes his chest hurt even more and altogether it’s not a very pleasant experience, but he knows that there isn’t really a choice here – he either drinks it or he gives up any hope of ever getting home.

At least Toothless isn’t too badly injured. The falling branch delivered a blow to his midsection, knocking a few scales out, and while the dragon protests and whimpers whenever Hiccup gently prods the area to make sure there’s no underlying damage, it’s not prevented him from being able to fish and forage for the both of them.

Which is a good thing, because Hiccup is almost entirely useless. 

 _Not like that’s a new concept though_ , he remarks bitterly. _I’ve been useless for most of my life_.

At least this time he’s got physical evidence he can point to that justifies his uselessness. Being down his prosthetic is bad enough, but his wrist is swollen, tight pink skin stiffening the joint. He sacrificed his shirt in order to bind the joint and hold it steady – he doesn’t dare try to set it himself, and he thanks the gods for the thousandth time that Toothless is there to make fires to keep them warm. When he took his shirt off to deconstruct it for the splint, barring a few small scratches there was no evidence that explained the soreness in his chest, but a few days later the bruises have come out in force, bright purple splotches stretching out across from his right side.

Between the three, his movement is incredibly restricted, and he can barely move his good hand to sweep the hair out of his eyes without something complaining. Putting up a shelter was obviously not an option, so he’s taken to curling up next to Toothless, protected by his friend’s embrace, but his sleep is restless and broken. Every time he so much as takes too deep a breath or shifts the wrong way, the pain is enough to wake him, tears dripping down his face as he tries desperately not to sob _because that fucking hurts too-_  

He spends most of his time sleeping, and when he’s not asleep his brain is working as fast as it can, desperately trying to think his way out of this situation. There must be _something_ he’s not considered, some way he can get the rig back to working capacity, something...

When he does allow himself a break, usually as he and Toothless share a meal in their corner of the grove, his thoughts stray to Astrid, how he has to stay positive because someone will find them eventually and he’ll have to put on a brave face for her because she’ll be worrying and pacing and _furious_ with him in the way that means she loves him.

When the pain is particularly strong, he thinks of all their best moments as a distraction: the first time they flew together, the first time she kissed him, the first time _he_ kissed _her_ back. He closes his eyes and watches her dance around the training ring with her axe like a summer storm, besting every single tribesman and woman in single combat. He can almost feel the love she has for him, a tangible thing, evident in every touch, every kiss, every time they’ve-

He can do this. He can hold it together for her.

He can do this.

On the afternoon of the fifth day, his resolve breaks.

He’s barely awake before the floodgates open, the nightmare having caught him completely off guard, and he can do nothing but lie on the ground and bawl despite the pain in his chest and try desperately to forget that look on Astrid’s scarred face and her screams of pain from her broken leg and-

He barely has time to turn over before he starts retching into the dirt beneath him.

Toothless warbles, completely at a loss for how to help his friend except for rubbing his head against Hiccup’s back, before stopping after realising that that just hurts more.

“I… I don’t… I…”

He can’t even finish a complete sentence. The thought of food makes him want to empty his stomach all over again and water- well, it’s probably the water that’s made him sick in the first place so that’s not going to help either. Gods, he really is useless, isn’t he? He’s got himself into a mess, just like he did when he was useless, but this time there’s no one to fix his mistake for him. It’s just him, battered and bruised, and his dragon, who can’t even fly on his own anymore because of the injury Hiccup gave him.

His fault. All his fault. _Useless, useless, useless...._  

He sets himself back down on his back as gently as he can, bad hand resting on his stomach and good hand rubbing his eyes as his mind teeters on the edge of consciousness. Toothless gives him a gentle lick and a soft moan. _I’m still here. I still believe in you_.

“I’m sorry, bud. I’m sorry I got us into this mess. I’m sorry about your tail. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

His words peter out as the blissful darkness takes him again – but just before he falls under, he swears he can make out a voice in the dulcet tones of home crying his name out. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking. He’s out before he can make a judgment either way.

 

* * *

 

 She comes to suddenly, as if someone had called her name, but when she looks around the room she is very much alone.

And then she remembers _whose_ room she’s in and _why_ she’s alone and- _don’t cry, Astrid, hold it together_.

The dawn light filters through Hiccup’s shutters, and she rolls herself out of bed, ready to track down Stormfly and begin a fresh day of searching, refusing to believe the worst. She pulls her clothes on stiffly, as if she were only dressing under someone’s instructions, her mind away with worries as she pulls her boots on and heads downstairs to look for her dragon. The Nadder usually curls up to sleep in Astrid’s hut when her mother allows it, but recently she’s been sleeping down with the other dragons during the night, too tired to follow Astrid up to her hut after their long days of fruitless searching. Astrid decides to find her the biggest, tastiest fish for her breakfast today, to thank her for the support she’s given over the last few days. 

As she leaves the Chief’s hut, she notices a small mass gathering in the centre of the village – the most eager of the riders looking for him probably, up early to coordinate their searches. She sucks in a deep breath and makes to join them, so she can know where to look next.

She sees someone run away from the huddle, returning in seconds from what she thinks is Gothi’s hut with what looks like a box of bandages. One of the night riders must have fallen from their dragon. _I hope they’re okay_ , she muses.

“… you okay? … leg?”

“… get the Chief!”                                                                                                               

“… Gothi, his wrist…”

Someone shifts in the crowd, exposing a new line of sight to the centre of the mob. And then Astrid starts running, because there’s only one dragon she knows with a red tail prosthesis, and there’s only one man she knows who was crazy enough to try and tame a Night Fury and-

“ _Hiccup_!” she screams, flying down the last twenty steps and barrelling towards the crowd. “Is he back? Is he alive?”

Someone notices her sprinting towards them, gets the others to part and-

Oh _, thank the Gods_.

Lying on the ground, injured and covered in mud, but very much alive, is a one-legged Viking with scruffy auburn hair, with a Night Fury curled around him.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the wind is knocked from his chest before he can speak as she tackles him to the ground in her embrace. He cries out in pain, and it’s enough to make her regain control and pull back to give him some space. In doing so, she finally takes in his appearance and shrieks in concern.

“Oh my _gods_ , what happened to you?”

He’s shirtless, exposing the red and purple splotches blossoming all across his ribcage and the mud that liberally coats the rest of his clothes and hair. His prosthetic leg is missing, and his right wrist appears to be strapped and bound to strips of wood about half the length of his forearm, the remains of his shirt holding it all together.

“I’m okay,” he manages, pushing himself back to sitting with the help of his one good arm and the Night Fury currently curled up around him. “We’re both okay.”

She looks him over carefully for a place to poke him, and, failing to find somewhere she’s not sure she won’t accidentally cause more damage to, decides to go for a verbal rebuke instead. “Don’t,” she snarls, “you _ever_ scare me like that again, Hiccup Haddock. Are we clear?”

“Yes, milady,” he mutters with a smile. “I have no intention of _ever_ doing that ever again.”

Her hands cup his face. “You’re _alive_ ,” she whispers. “You came back, you’re alive-”

“When have I not done that?” His feeble attempt at a quip falls flat as he sees the tears welling in her eyes. “Astrid, it’s okay, we’re both fine-”

“ _Toothless_ looks fine,” she says, shifting to give the dragon in question a once over with her hands and receiving a grateful warble in response. “You, on the other hand, look like you’ve been to Hel and back.”

Hiccup tries to respond but is interrupted by his chest wheezing and places a hand to his ribs, face scrunching up.

“We found him a few leagues south of the island we all went to during the Swelter last year,” a voice interjects from above. Astrud turns and is surprised to find Spitelout Jorgenson’s mouth producing it. “He was in a bad way. From the sounds of things, they got caught in that storm we had a week back; the lightning toppled a tree and crushed his prosthetic and the rig components, and when he reacted to it, he fell and landed on his wrist. His ribs have taken a beating too; I suspect he fell hard on them as well, looking at that bruising. It stopped them flying away and with his hand the way it is he couldn’t do any repairs to the rig, so they just had to wait for us to come find them. Toothless managed to fish, and this island is plentiful with a new sweetfruit, so they’ve not wanted for food, but I think they’ve struggled for fresh water, looking at his skin. When we found them, Hiccup was unconscious and Toothless unable to fly, so I had Kingstail carry Toothless and Sven tied Hiccup down on the back of his Nightmare so he wouldn’t move around while he was unconscious. He woke up a couple of hours ago and filled us in on what happened.”

Astrid gapes at Spitelout, notorious on Berk for not giving a flying fish about pretty much anything, blinking back tears of relief. “I’m just glad we got there when we did. What with their water problem and all, a couple more days may well have finished him off.” Spitelout’s face is suddenly overcome with emotion, and he takes a step backwards. “I’m going to go get Stoick, he’ll want to know his boy’s alive…”

The group stands in silence as Spitelout retreats up the hill at a pace, unable to process _what the fuck just happened_?

“Astrid?”

Her head whips back around to see Hiccup straining to lift his good hand up to her cheek. “I’m sorry for worrying you all.”

She nuzzles into the touch, resting her own hands lightly on his shoulders. “We’re just glad you’re okay. I’m just glad you’re back in one piece.”

“Yeah, well, this time the broken limb is almost definitely going to stay attached, right, Gothi?”

The elder, who Astrid has not noticed until this point, nods her head and smiles.

“It better. I’ve lost enough of you as it is already. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost any more of you…”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes her, stroking her cheek gently. “I’m okay, I promise. I’ll be stuck in bed for a few weeks, and Toothless will be grounded until Gobber can fix the tail rig, but we’re alright. I’m not going anywhere."

“You better not,” she says, tilting her forehead to his. “Otherwise I’d be forced to track down Valhalla just to find you and slap you.”

“Have I mentioned my discontent with the level of physical violence in our relationship before? Because I am injured and I don’t think slapping me is going to help-”

“Oh, shut up,” she whispers, leaning in to silence him with her lips.

It’s only quick, what with the small audience they have, but even the brush of his lips against hers is enough to realign Astrid within the world, now that she knows that he’s _here_ and he’s _safe_ and he’s _hers_. She pulls away and casts her gaze all over his face, drinking in every line, every curve, every freckle. She could look at his face forever and never find a single flaw. His good hand moves to cup the back of her head and tilt their foreheads together again.

“I pray to Freyja every day for a love like that,” a gentle voice in the crowd says. Astrid does not turn to source it but continues staring into Hiccup’s beautiful green eyes. “I think this is how she is answering my prayers because seeing the way those two look at each other is almost enough to sustain me too.”

Astrid blushes; across from her, Hiccup does the same. He opens his mouth to respond but before he can vocalise something a great booming voice echoes across the village square.

“ _Where is my son_? _Where is he_?”

There is a great amount of shoving and indignant “hey!”s and then a large, ginger-bearded man breaks through the crowd and falls to his knees at Hiccup’s side.

“Oh, my boy…” Stoick gasps. “Oh, praise the Gods for returning you to me, son. What… are you… what happened?”

The crowd finally begins to disperse somewhat, leaving just Hiccup, Astrid, Toothless, Stoick, Gobber and Gothi as Hiccup begins recounting their encounter again. While he talks, Gothi gently begins deconstructing his make-shift splint and sets the joint before applying healing salve and fresh cotton bandages to the swelling. Hiccup hisses with pain intermittently as he talks; and Astrid takes to smoothing his hair (as far as it’s possible with the amount of mud currently soaked into it) and kissing his uninjured hand, as if those small motions could take away his pain.

As Hiccup wraps up, Gothi taps at the dirt to indicate that she’s finished too, and that Hiccup needs to go and _rest_  

“I agree, lad. You look exhausted, and we need to get some _clean_ water into you,” Gobber says. “Stoick, shall you and I…?”

Between them, they gently lift Hiccup between them, making sure none of his most injured bits are supporting his weight. He’s still nowhere near as bulky as his father, but his recent rapid growth spurt, plus the muscle he’s gained from years in the forge and flying Toothless means he’s no longer the scrawny kid who tamed a Night Fury, and it takes both Gobber and Stoick to carry him up the hill to the Chief’s hut.

Once they’re inside, the two men gently lower Hiccup into a chair, before Gobber takes his leave (“I’m not gonna intrude on your family time, I’ll see you in the mess hall for evening meal”) and then the door is closed and it’s just Astrid and her boyfriend and her boyfriend’s father alone in the same room, and suddenly Astrid realises that _oh Gods, Stoick knows_ _about the two of them wanting to get betrothed and he’s probably worked out that they’ve_ -

“Astrid, would you get a bucket of water to heat over the fire for his leg?” Stoick asks gently, interrupting her thoughts. “I’ll help him wash and change while you’re out, to save his decency.” 

Her cheeks flame at that, but they barely tinge pink compared to the red blush that spreads against her partner’s face and down his chest, mingling with his bruises. “Dad, can you not-”

“Sure thing, Chief, I’ll, uh… take my time.” Her fingers fumble with the bucket and she makes to stand up. Just before she heads towards the door, she leans to give Hiccup the quickest of kisses, then stumbles from the room before her blush sells them out.

As the door closes, she hears Stoick say “I love you so much, son” and she smiles as she hears Hiccup reply in kind. Their relationship isn’t the easiest and they’re awful at talking to each other about literally everything, but their hearts are in the right place and in the end, isn’t that what matters, really?

Hiccup’s smile consumes her thoughts as she heads down to the well to draw the water, and by the time she returns, he’s is tucked into bed in the corner of the room and the fire is gently glowing down to embers. Stoick is nowhere to be seen, so she tips the water into the iron pot hanging above the fire, then heads over to check on Hiccup.

“Hey,” she says softly, falling to her knees by his head and reaching a hand up to gently pull through his newly de-mudded hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Clean,” he smiles. “Sorry about my dad.”

Her cheeks flame again, and she ducks her gaze. “Yeah, well, I might have actually told him that you’re trying to save up for my bride price, and he’s probably inferred a little bit from that.”

“You- what?”

“I’m sorry, it just slipped out,” she whispers. “We were crying together, and he basically poured his heart out to me and he just looked so broken and I-”

“My dad was _crying_?”

“Everyone thought you were _dead_ , Hiccup!” she shouts, surprising herself. “We had no idea where you were or if you were even alive, and the idea of trying to exist without you was just…” She fights back a sob and buries her face into the blankets next to his chest, desperately trying to slow her breathing.

The fingers of his good hand weave into her hair and he sighs. “I’m so sorry, Astrid. I never meant to worry any of you-”

“It’s not anyone’s fault, Hiccup.” She looks up and meets his concerned gaze. “Accidents happen. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

He smiles and twists his fingers into her hair more. “Me too, milady,” he whispers.

It’s the easiest thing in the world to lean over and press her lips to his. Everything around them just melts away – the only thing that exists is him and her and the feeling of their skin touching and the warmth in the room, and for the first time in days Astrid feels like she can breathe again.

She has no idea how long they stay like that, existing solely in the space between them, but she knows it’s far too soon when someone clears their throat behind her and interrupts them.

“I’m sorry to bother you two, lass, but that water looks to be just about warm enough now, and my arms are currently occupied.”

Hiccup sighs and lets his head fall back against his pillows. “Way to kill a moment, Dad.”

Stoick chuckles as Astrid stands up and heads over to take the pot off the fire. “Gobber’s got a temporary leg made up for you, and he sent me over to see how it fits.”

The heated water back in the bucket, Astrid turns to see Hiccup trying to slide the replacement prosthetic onto his stump as gently as possible while one-handed. The hiss of pain has barely passed his lips before Stoick is there, taking over from his son, asking _is it too tight here, does it pinch there_ , noting the responses to take back to the smith for improvements. The leg comes off again and Astrid moves in with the bucket as Stoick stands back up, gently rolling up the material of Hiccup’s trousers and easing his stump into the water. His head lolls back, face relaxing into an expression that she’s only ever seen before during-

“Oh, that’s so much better,” he mutters, cutting off _that_ train of thought. “Thank you, guys. 

“That’s what family does,” his father smiles from his chair across the fire. “We take care of each other.”

Astrid sits on the floor and leans her head into his shoulder, gently rubbing his leg to try and help relieve some tension in the muscles. Hiccup’s good hand comes to hold her head to his chest, and they both sigh, and there is a comfortable silence in the hut that’s only broken when Hiccup makes to pull his stump from the bucket and settle back into bed. Astrid takes a look at Stoick, snoring softly in his chair, and decides _fuck it_ and climbs into the furs next to her partner, taking care to arrange them so that she’s not touching any of his injured bits. He smiles softly and rests his head on her chest.

“I love you, you idiot.” 

“I love you too, milady.”

**Author's Note:**

> this started as a daydream in a lecture and then became over 8,000 words in a few days whoops
> 
> constructive criticism is always appreciated!
> 
> alternative title, as for all my work, is 'in which minty continues to use far more commas than are necessary'
> 
> give me more things to write about I enjoyed this
> 
> be kind to yourself and others!
> 
> minty xoxo


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